


The Statue of Liberty Play Was Invented in Florin in 1212

by Missy



Category: The Princess Bride - Simon Morgenstern, The Princess Bride - William Goldman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Awesome Buttercup (Princess Bride), Explosives, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Morgensternian Interjections
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:01:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27659219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: Trapped in an underground cellar as zombies gambol above them, Buttercup, Westley, Inigo and Fezzik must work together to clear a path to freedom.A missing scene from Morgenstern's adventures, removed at the suggestion of multiple attorneys.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6
Collections: Books of Yule





	The Statue of Liberty Play Was Invented in Florin in 1212

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Val_Creative](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/gifts).



“You didn’t mention that the man was possessed,” Inigo said, kicking the door of what had been his former torture chamber and securing it with an iron bar. “I would have liked a little bit of a warning before he lunged toward my neck. Just a second’s shout.” 

“It’s hard to explain something when one is mostly dead,” explained Westley, sitting up heavily against the thick wall. He patted the bottle of resurrection potion he’d gotten from Miracle Max and grumbled. “If I’d known that Humperdinck was a zombie, I would have informed you hours ago, before you went to such lengths to save me.”

I could explain how many lengths they went to, and how horrifying and gory the battle was, and how many former members of the Florin Zombie Attack League (Motto: “If we see the whites of their eyes , we stab them”) were lost in the horrible crossfire, for many people had been infected in the small kingdom, and Inigo and Westley had taken the princess and hidden her from the infected, for her sake and to prevent the spread of the infection to her.

Buttercup was none too pleased about being stuck underground with the three of them. “How long are we going to wait for them to leave?”

“I don’t know anything about science,” said Fezzik from his position by the only window – which was up so high in the dugout that only he could reach it, “but I suppose when they run out of people to infect, they’ll let us alone.”

“And then we will not have to roam,” said Inigo.

“Well, I’m not one to rest on my laurels,” said Buttercup. “Do you think there’s a way out of here that’s quicker?”

“Well, it’s a long shot,” said Westley, “but do we have fertilizer?”

“At this point I could make fertilizer,” said Inigo.

“Not yet,” Westley said. “We can take this disaster and turn it around with a bit of thought. Perhaps we could explore this little hovel…good God, man where did you find this place?”

“I come here to think in peace,” Inigo said. “And to meditate upon the revenge I will attain one day over the six fingered man.”

“With our luck, he’s probably the rotting man. Or the fingerless man,” said Buttercup. She couldn’t help but pout, being incredibly exhausted, as one would be should their groom turn into a drooling, ravenous zombie in the middle of your wedding ceremony. 

“You must look on the bright side,” Fezzik said. “He could be partially dead!”

“That’s a positive?” Buttercup said.

“Don't worry about the odds. It’s better than being entirely alive! He was planning on killing his father and taking over the kingdom, his being dead is a good thing!”

She wished she could share Fezzik’s sunny optimism. “Well, I’ve been through worse. And I fear I’ll have to go through worse again,” she said, and eyeballed the distance between the door and her body. Outside she could hear shambling, but the walls were apparently too thick for the zombies to breach, or even smell the flesh of the people hiding inside and away from them.

Westley, meanwhile, was plotting with Inigo to win their freedom. “There is a very ancient Sicilian method for turning peat moss into an explosive. My _mami_ used to make it so my father could teach his students how to use explosives.”

“Your father, the swordsman, taught his students how to use explosives?” Westley asked.

“In the freelance mercenary world, one must learn to be versatile,” said Inigo sincerely. “And there is much moss here. I might show you how to make it, Fezzik could throw the stuff out the window, it will explode, dead zombies, living us.”

“Fascinating,” Westley said. “We don’t have much of a choice, so I believe testing your hypotenuse. But I fear we’ll become splatters against the wall.”

“We don’t have many more options,” Inigo pointed out. “We stay here and we starve. Or: we stay here, the zombies burst into the room, and we become _merde_ splattered against the wall.”

“Well. Your colorful statement’s convinced me,” said Westley dryly. “Let’s get to work, then.”

(I would explain the incredibly precise way they managed to boil the peat moss into a highly powerful explosive, how they managed to create a charge that would burn long enough for them to toss the bundle into the group of zombies, but that would take too many pages and my editor has already threatened to throw this book out on its ear, especially after the Spanish military accused me of revealing secrets about their drills in the previous printing of this book. I will suffice it to say that it was like napalm with a slight kick to it, much like adding hot sauce onto a very band omelet. Kabom.)

“All right,” Westley said, having helped Inigo bundle the explosive together and attach the fuse. “Which one of us is going to throw it to Fezzik?”

“I could climb down and carry it up,” Fezzik said. 

“A fine idea, but the action would probably cause the thing to explode. 

“I can throw it!” Buttercup insisted. Her chin went up and her blue eyes blazed, and Inigo raised an impressed eyebrow at her bravery.

“Darling,” Westley said, “are you sure…?”

“I am sure of many things. Including myself,” she said. “So give me the flint.” He did, and she tossed it toward Fezzik, who effortlessly caught it in his large hands. “And hand me the explosive.” They did, and she easily landed it in his hands. “And now, as Fezzik lights the bomb, we hide and hope that we don’t die before the zombies,” said Buttercup.

They did so. Fezzik lit the fuse, tossed open the window and threw the package out of the window. 

The explosion that followed rocked through the woods.

****

**~~CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC~~**

The aftermath was not pretty, but at least it cleared a path for our heroes to escape the zombie horde. They made it to the _Revenge_ and set sail for the nearest and safest island. 

The sailors complained about the scent of gore and dried mildew that trailed them for days afterward. For details, see my third appendices. For more information about their journey, skip to page 300. Or don’t do either. It’s a free country.


End file.
